


we were young once (full of violence)

by okayantigone



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU-Galactic Armistice, Alternate Universe, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, F/M, Gen, Han Solo's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Leia Organa's A+ Parenting, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Sith Emperor Kylo Ren, Stormtrooper Culture, The First Order, and palpatine - Freeform, ben killed snoke, but that's why we love him, finn is STILL an outlier, no one here has had a good life, poe is kind of a slut, rey shows up later, spice runners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: a new sith empire emerged from the ashes of exegol, when the apprentice kylo ren rose up and killed his masters. the empire honors peace treaties and trading agreements, and the new emperor, the last of the sith, hides his face behind the charred mask of darth vader.-----"ben solo?" he asks quietly, his voice catching on the jagged edges of the lump in hit throat. "is that really you?"the emperor shakes his head. "not anymore.""oh god," poe whispers, staring up reverently, at the sour curve of his beautiful mouth. "what has this life done to you?"ben's smile pulls at the edges of his scar. "i grew up. just like you did."
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo, Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux, Poe Dameron/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Zorii Bliss/Poe Dameron
Comments: 28
Kudos: 43





	1. gracefully unnamed and feeling luck

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write more but then i got distracted with food  
> updates will be sporadic and motivated by comments
> 
> \--  
> in this chapter: mitaka really tries very hard to be good, and finn and poe meet for the first time

when general hux collapsed on command deck after taking four back-to-back active shifts without breaks between them, and had to be dragged to his rooms for mandatory rest on pain of death (“you either rest for a few days now, or i’ll put you in a permanent rest you arrogant piece of –“ were emperor ren’s exact words), captain dopheld mitaka had to step up and pick some of the slack. no one really understood how much of the finalizer’s smooth operations relied on hux’s adamant insistence that he was too good for sleep.

but oh boy, doph was really getting it now.

one of the storm troopers assigned to canteen staff came in with a tray of caf, and doph was about to hug him with joy. or her. it was hard to tell under the body armor. the tray passed around command deck, and the scent of freshly brewed caf filled the room. the emperor had recently negotiated new supply chains, and for the first time in a long time the new empire had access to all kinds of delicious things that were previously forgotten. rationing had sucked. big time. doph had grown up on it, after all. emperor ren had brought them _prosperity._

so, there he was, standing on the finalizer’s command deck, and staring out into the stars, and sipping his caf, and counting down the minutes until his shift was over and he could pass the baton to phasma and go pass out in his quarters, when the distress signal came.

it wasn’t targeted. it was one of those broad “i’m really fucked, please _anyone_ give assistance.”

“emergency transmission incoming,” one of the radar technicians said.

“play it,” dopheld ordered, and straightened up.

“this is commander poe dameron of the new republic fleet, transmitting from the black one. we are off course, and need navigation assistance. ship has taken damage, and we need fuel and supplies. i repeat, this is commander poe dameron of the new republic fleet, identification code- “

he motioned for their scanners to activate, and pressed down on transmission.

“commander dameron, we hear you loud and clear. this is the imperial star destroyer the finalizer, command deck, you are speaking to captain dopheld mitaka. do you copy?”

“oh, thank the force,” dameron says, and sounds like he’s letting out all the breath in his body, “i copy, command deck.”

the center console projects the hologram of the ship. it’s a badly damaged T-70 x-wing model. the thing looks like it’s been through the wringer, though doph struggles to imagine how. the new sith empire has a tentative treaty with the new republic, thanks largely to the emperor’s exhaustive efforts to _not_ drag the galaxy into another thirty-year stalemate.

“you’re within range of our tractor beams. we can pull you on board,” doph says.

dameron makes another noise approximating relief.  
  
“how many life forms do you have on board?”

“it’s just me. there’s also a BB unit in need of repairs.”  
  


“understood. do you require medical assistance?”

“… i don’t think so.” dameron doesn’t sound so sure.

“do you carry any weapons, heavy artillery or contraband as defined by the new trade route treaty?” doph asks. it’s mostly per functionary, but pulling someone in distress on board just to arrest them for carrying space oregano will get very tricky paperwork-wise.

“no,” dameron says confidently. “just personal arms.”  
  
“alright,” doph says. “you’re being pulled into hangar TX-45, you will be greeted by some of our medical staff, and technical support, for repair work to be carried out on your ship and your droid. please leave all weapons aboard your ship. this is standard procedure.”

“understood. thank you, command deck.”

doph ends the transmission. helping a new republic pilot will definitely score them points with the brass. cooperation, and all that jazz. doph thinks it’s good. hux doesn’t, not so much, but he’s coming around to their life’s work taking a new direction under ren. it’s very hard not to obey the man they’d seen bisect snoke in two like he was butter, and stand up to palpatine himself (because yes, apparently sith were nigh immortal. obviously. that had been a _very_ rough year for everyone).

of all the ships to catch his distress call, it had to be the kriffing finalizer. the new imperial fleet’s flagship had a certain kind of fame. it was the ship that emperor ren himself travelled on for official functions, and it was an all-around mean fighting machine designed to squash rebellions and trample over small planets. kind of like the allegedly decommissioned star killer base weapon. which was decommissioned after the first armistice negotiation. allegedly.

still getting help from a sith ship was better than freezing to death in outer space because his navigation was all out of whack, and there was a hole in his fuel tank. he had no idea where he was to begin with. he’d thought if he could get himself to orbit a nearby planet, he’d have a chance at transmitting to local republic bases, but zorii really hadn’t held back on his poor ship.

he felt the tractor beams of the finalizer activate, and tried not to succumb to a dark sense of foreboding as his ship was pulled into the gaping maw of the star destroyer.

bb-8 beeped morosely at him.

he navigated the black one into a graceless park in the hangar. there was a small gaggle of storm troopers, and imperial operatives.

“welcome aboard the finalizer, commander dameron,” the trooper at the front said, loud and clear. his mask must have been equipped with a voice projector. “i am fn-2187, and this is my unit. we’re going to take a look at your ship, and see about what repairs can be done. you said you weren’t sure about needing medical assistance, so we have a medic on hand just in case, as well as droid technicians for your bb unit. please remove any arms from your person before you come aboard.”

poe knew it was standard procedure. he did. but the whole thing – the tentative peace with the new sith empire, and having to get onboard the flagship unarmed and play nice… well. fuck it. leia would have his head on a pike if he did anything to upset her efforts just because he was uncooperative.

he walked out carrying bb-8 in his arms like a particularly heavy and very round baby.

the storm trooper had removed his helmet. he saluted poe formally. as a commander, poe technically outranked him. he returned the salute as best as he could while holding bb-8, and then reluctantly handed him over to the droid technicians.

the storm trooper relaxed his stance somewhat, and shook his hand.  
  
“you’re lucky we caught your distress signal, your ship’s in a tragic shape. what even happened to you?”

poe shrugged. “spice runners from kijimi,” he said. it sounded better than “a vengeful ex-lover.”

“goodness,” said the storm-trooper. “and they chased you all the way here? i swear, the galaxy is getting crazier.”

“uh-huh,” said poe. the storm trooper really was rather nice looking, for a storm trooper, with smooth dark skin, and a handsome smile, flashing pearl white teeth. he had a very easy and reassuring manner about him, like everything would be alright. “where is here, exactly? my navigation system is damaged, i was just trying to get away.”

the storm trooper shook his head, like he thought poe was exceedingly dumb. which – alright. maybe he was.  
  
“we’re in orbit in jakku’s airspace.”

“jakku? that’s a junkyard!”

fn-2187 rolled his eyes in obvious agreement. “tell me about it. i hate it here. the sand gets _everywhere._ but emperor ren is on a research trip, and we’re staffing his flagship, so…”

“right. where you go, he goes.”

“even blind loyalty has its limits,” the stormtrooper muttered. “at least he only takes his knights on his desert outings. we just man the perimeter on the outpost. anyhow, i’m instructed to bring you to the stormtrooper quarters, and put you up in a room, until repairs are done on your ship. follow me. you’ll probably want some rest, and then i’ll show you to the canteen.”

“oh,” said poe. “thank you.”

so far, the damn imperialists were being more than hospitable. he had no complaints. “did they assign you to babysit me?”

fn-2187 laughed. he honest to god laughed. “yeah, a little. i know we have a peace treaty and all, but the emperor is on board. this could all be a very clever assassination ploy, for all we know.”

“does it happen often?” poe asked, genuinely curios. “you know, people trying to assassinate him.”

“that’s confidential,” the stormtrooper said tightly. he was still friendly, but some of his warmth had dissipated.

poe took it as a yes. he wondered who’d be stupid enough to try to assassinate the most powerful sith lord in recent galactic history. emperor ren was descended from darth vader, and had, allegedly, been trained by luke skywalker himself, though leia was very tightlipped on that, and then he’d trained under snoke, and emperor palpatine himself, before his little coup had succeeded. if rumors were to be believed, he could kill with a thought, and had a notoriously short temper, did not know the meaning of mercy, and had never been one to compromise. he was feared, if not outright hated, by those who still remembered palpatine’s reign of terror. for now, the new republic tolerated him, if only because he seemed relatively into the whole peacekeeping initiative. even if he had his own way of going about it.


	2. with bared teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hux is not dealing well with his mandatory bedrest, and the tension between him and pryde comes to a head. poe makes a fascinating discovery. storm troopers love gossiping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!!!

in the dream, armitage was a child again, begging for mercy at his father’s feet. he wakes up panting to phantom pain across his back and thighs, where the scars have long closed and faded on his skin. his bed is soaked through with nervous sweat, and the sweat of his stim withdrawals. he claps the lights in his quarters on, and sits up with stilted movements.  
mandatory bedrest, my ass, he thinks. fuck kylo ren, he thinks. 

a droid helpfully whirrs towards him with a glass of water. he wants to smack it away petulantly, but his throat is dryer than the jakku desert. he checks the time, not that it means anything to him. he’s been drifting in and out for days now, working the stims out of his system, and catching up on the sleep and nightmares he’d missed. 

it’s not that he had no faith in mitaka’s abilities so much as well… he didn’t. mitaka was adorable like a puppy, and armitage was a fighter dog. dophie was a sweetheart who wouldn’t last a week sharing the round table with the likes of pryde. it’s why armitage hadn’t been sleeping to begin with. 

“we need pryde here, he keeps the fanatics on our side and under control,” ren had snarled, when hux had raised the issue with him. the scar bisecting his face was still fresh and angry red, his dark hair a wild mess, and his eyes a fierce brutal gold. “or would you rather have him and his chanting nutcases rampage around the galaxy with a fleet of star destroyers – there will be no galaxy left to rule over.” 

and armitage hated that he was correct. he hated pryde even more. 

“i promise as soon as he tries to poison you, i’ll kill him,” ren says mildly, at last, his tone appeasing, hands splayed in a peaceful gesture. his lips are curved in an approximation of a boyish smile. armitage had clicked his heels, saluted him, stiffly and left the room before having to stare at his hateful face any longer. snoke and palpatine were dead. the things that they’d done, and forced ren to do… weren’t. 

if ren thought that armitage would honestly ask for his help… he had another thing coming. armitage had been politicking and dealing with the likes of pryde since he was a child. he could fight his own battles, thank you very much. regardless of what his recent collapse might have implied. he’d just have to lay off stims for a while, and just rely on caf, sugar and spite to keep him going. 

when he got his breathing under control, he finally dragged himself to his shower room to wash the sweat and nightmares off. he luxuriated in the warm water that was his officer’s privilege. he’d even managed to get his hands on a pine-scented soap. phasma had confiscated a whole crate of them from some smugglers. the indulgence of it felt almost wrong. 

he dressed himself slowly, after. his rooms were equipped with fluffy white towels, higher grade synthetic fabric than anything the lower ranking crew-members got. small things that made a world of difference some days, especially like right now, when he was on the verge of a total nervous collapse, to go with his body giving up on him. 

he never left his quarters looking less than pristine, wearing his perfectly pressed uniform. he tugged the shiny black leather gloves on his hands, hiding all his skin, but his face from view. he grasped his cane firmly. he’d had to rely on it these past few days, as his vestibulary system rebelled against him. everything had to be a goddamn struggle. he was still technically off duty, of course, and ren would throw a veritable fit over his orders being disobeyed, but he couldn’t well smoke in his rooms, when there was a perfectly good officers’ smoking area right down the hall, that was made specifically for that purpose. 

he strode purposefully, relishing in the silence of the corridor, and the click of his polished boots on the smooth tile. the cigarettes he had access to were prime grade garbage, but it was the best he could get in the middle of nowhere, over fucking jakku. he hadn’t had time to hit his supplier before ren wanted them to take off. it was embarrassing. 

the smoking lounge was blissfully empty. armitage wasn’t really sure he could handle making conversation right about now, and he hadn’t really ventured out of his quarters after the kriffing embarrassment on command deck, where he’d passed out like some blushing arkanis debutante begging for daddy’s attention. no, indeed. he was just going to smoke and clear his head, and go back to his room, and his forced bed rest. though in all honesty, it wasn’t wholly terrible, the orders came from ren. he was morally obliged to be displeased. 

he settled himself in the nook by the large window, staring out into the abyss and laid his cane across his knees. he fumbled in his pockets for the cigarettes and his golden lighter. it was one he’d pilfered from his father’s desk right before he got shipped off to training camp, and had the hux crest on it. he lit up, and breathed in smoke, eyes fluttering closed. smoking was as close to meditation as he got, these days. 

he’d seen ren meditate, his back perfectly straight, his eyes closed, as he slowed his breathing down and chanted quietly to himself. it looked… disturbing. he did not like it one bit. he finished his cigarette, and put it out in the heavy ashtray. he heard footsteps just as he was about to light another one. he stood up automatically. a few lower-ranking officers saluted him, and he nodded magnanimously. 

“feeling better, general?” 

“yes. much,” he said flatly, following their movement around the room out the corner of his eyes. they’d come in together, but they were spreading out now. he shifted his position, and gripped his cane loosely. he’d spent his life being a skinny clever boy with no mother. he knew what getting jumped looked like. if he was wrong – well. he wouldn’t mind being wrong just this once. 

if he was right, then pryde was even more stupidly overconfident than he’d originally thought. he needed to get buried deep in the sea, with the rest of the sith dinosaurs. there was no place for these fanatics in his new order. when the first man made his move, he did not anticipate that armitage to be ready for him. 

his father had used that cane to beat many priceless lessons into him, and made sure they sunk in. armitage was happy to continue the tradition. he’d left his blaster in his rooms, on the mistaken assumption that no one would try to kill him on his own kriffing ship. ren’s ship. whatever. 

he pressed the cane’s handle, and blade popped out. he’d always preferred getting close and personal when he killed like this. when it meant something. with his other hand, he swiped the heavy ashtray off the table, and hurled it at the man furthest from him. he had excellent aim, and heard the satisfying crunch of bone, as the marble made contact. these officers were soft things. not from the recruits whose training he’d overseen, and that he himself was a product of. they did not know real pain, or a real fight. and they crucially underestimated the fact that while he was sleep-deprived, there wasn’t really anything else physically wrong with him. 

he did take great pleasure in cursing them to high heaven in his head, as he took a few hits. why did it always have to be four or five-on one. couldn’t the odds be fair just once? he knew he was an unpleasant slippery bastard, but why didn’t the force, or whomever, make this shit easy, just the one time? he hadn’t even done anything that evil recently, to require penance for. 

he’d left milicent alone for this trip, but that hardly justified yet another attempt on his life. 

it occurred to him, when he dispatched the final attacker, that he’d struggled against less people than had come into the room. had someone gotten scared and ran?

he swiped the sweat off his forehead, surveying the damage. the man who’s come at him first was staring unseeingly into the ceiling. the other two were foaming at the mouth, as was custom for assassins to do. pryde wasn’t sloppy, at least. this could easily be blamed on the republic. as if hux would let it get to investigation. but the fourth man…. was struggling in the choke hold of someone hux had never seen before in his life. 

he marched across the room, neatly sidestepping the corpses, nodded at the stranger, and then slit the officer’s throat, and wiped his blade on his uniform, before clicking the blade back in his cane. 

“i’m general armitage hux of the first order, and commander of this ship. may i inquire as to whom i owe thanks?” 

the other man regarded him with a careful, calculating look. he had bronzed skin, and dark curls falling over a boyishly handsome face, and his eyes were warm. he’d stepped away from the blood pooling at his feet with the calculated coldness of another soldier who’d seen death. 

“i’m commander poe dameron of the republic fleet. i sent a distress signal. captain mitaka was kind enough to pull me on board.” 

“ah,” hux nodded. “that was good of him. in any case, thank you for the assistance, just now, though i’m relatively sure i’d have managed.” 

“i assumed assassination attempts were reserved for the emperor,” dameron says, unruffled. he lets armitage walk around him to the control panel. he listens with half a ear as he dials phasma’s private line. 

“the emperor likes us all to be able to join in the fun. he’s very generous like that,” hux snarls acerbically. “i need clean up droids in the uppser deck smoking lounge nearest to my quarters. trash needs to be picked up and tossed in the incinerators, and i want that whole area cordoned off for due to ventilation issues. anyone has any questions, tell them they can take it up with me, and disturb me during my emperor-ordered bed rest. the droids go in the incinerator with the cargo. no – i. yes, i’m fine. i’ll tell you about it later.” 

he closes the line. “this is all going to get handled,” he tells dameron. “what were you doing in this area to begin with? captain mitaka must be feeling generous if he’s hosting you in an officer’s quarters.”

“i actually got lost,” dameron admits, somewhat sheepish. “i was looking for the canteen.” 

it’s a shockingly common mistake. he must have taken a right instead of a left. for how cleanly labelled everything on the ship is, the number of times armitage himself had gone to the smoking area when he’d needed food was ridiculous. 

“i’ll walk you there,” he said magnanimously. “might be a good idea to be seen alive and well, before people start feeling too victorious.” 

“of course,” dameron says. they walk out. he’s mindful of hux’s speed, and matches his own. it’s a courtesy taller men rarely afford him. 

“so what was that, about bedrest, you mentioned earlier,” he asks, breaking the silence all too soon in armitage’s opinion. 

“i’ve been ordered to take leave by the emperor,” he says tersely. “he thinks i’m overexerting myself. of course, i run his ship, and it rather feels like i’m being punished for taking my responsibilities seriously.” 

dameron nods, once. “so you’re the one who collapsed on command deck, and gave everyone a fright? one of the storm troopers mentioned.” 

armitage ground his teeth. too bad his father’s programming hadn’t figured out a way to cure the storm troopers from being such insufferable gossips. 

“that was me, yes. in my defense, it was my fourth cycle without sleep.” 

dameron shook his head, smiling slightly. “you really do take this seriously,” he said, but there was admiration in his voice. 

“we’re trying to build something,” armitage said. “that’s going to outlive us all. just like you. but there’s people that are quite determined to ruin it, with botched attempts on my life. you know if those bodies don’t go into the incinerator… this will all be blamed on the resistance. or the rebels, or the republic, or whoever will give the next general to take my place an excuse to rampage through the galaxy.” 

“i hadn’t thought of that,” dameron admits. “it did seem laughably small-minded.” 

“their goal wasn’t to kill me, really. just a small provocation,” armitage allowed. “but neither the first order, nor i, personally, will respond to provocation. we’re here, by the way. you took a wrong turn. do enjoy your meal, and i suppose i will see you around. i hope all the repairs on your ship go well.” 

“right,” said dameron. “thank you, general. i suppose you need to return to your mandatory bedrest. no one is too good for sleep, you know.” 

for a moment armitage considered going into the canteen too. he wasn’t too good to eat with the storm troopers. but the thought of going into a roomful of people just now made his skin crawl. he turned on his heel. he was itching for a cigarette. time to start smoking in his room, against all principle, he supposed. damn pryde.


	3. hand of god

it is poe’s observation that life on the finalizer is not wholly different from life on any of the numerous resistance ships. he’s not sure what it was he’d expected of the first order and its notoriously brutal storm trooper programme, rebranded into ren’s sith empire. maybe to see them kill younglings in the hallways? so far, it’s just the drudgery of life on any number of military vessels orbiting in peace time.

it’s only been a cycle and a half since they pulled him on board. repairs on bb-8 had been finished rather quickly, and the two of them were reunited shortly after his first dinner on board, just in time for poe to tell him all about the crimson-haired general hux whose life he’d sort of saved.

bb-8 just beeped at him in exasperation. he just had a way of pickin’ em, it seemed. not that he’d picked the general yet, or anything. hux was not unknown to the resistance. after the empire had finally announced itself, and the new republic stopped hiding its head in the sand, and was ready to accept that the sith were not only on the rise, but had in fact, never disappeared, the resistance had been grandfather back into official systems. if the empire could have a military- and one as sizeable as it did – then so could – and should- the new republic. leia had been very gracious in not telling “i told you so” to the entire senate. but after that, the new republic and the former resistance had had to compare notes.

hux was the son of an imperial general, and had grown up in relative wealth in arkanis. he’d received military training and an excellent education, as befitting of a nobleman’s son, and had quickly distinguished himself as a brilliant engineer. and the first order at the time had needed brilliant engineers. hux was allegedly the cruel mind that had fashioned the allegedly decommissioned starkiller weapon of mass destruction. and according to the reports on him they had, he would not have blinked at firing it at will at any planet. maybe the galaxy owed something of a thanks to this kylo ren character for keeping his general in check. maybe. poe couldn’t shake from his head the sight of hux’s dispassionate face when he’d slit the would-be assassin’s throat, and watched the blood pool at the toes of his perfectly polished boots. like he’d done it a thousand times. maybe he had.

dinner that evening had been an eventless affair. the storm trooper he’d been introduced to, fn had poe sit at his table with the rest of his company, and poe was treated to stories of jakku’s shittiness. the emperor was an avid researcher of the history of the sith and jedi, and was after something lost, to their understanding. and in general, seemed to be a history nerd. fn had only just said that, when the polite clearing of a throat startled them, and poe found himself staring at his own reflection in captain phasma’s polished chrome armor. she too, was something of a legend for her alleged strategic genius and leadership acumen.

it was starting in and of itself, poe realized, that he’d hung out with storm troopers for the better part of his day. and he’d… enjoyed it. the scary stuff of stories, but they were just… people. beneath their white armor, some of them were even cute. he pointedly did not look at fn on the way to his quarters.

he’d been given a standard single cabin. some of the lower-ranked personbel had to double-up, but it was just meant to build character.

“the higher up you get, the nicer your rooms,” fn explained. “though i’ve heard ren’s rooms are… empty.”  
“empty?”

“that’s what some of the cleaner droids say. it makes sense though, doesn’t it? the jedi don’t believe in earthly possessions… right?” he frowned a little, making the statement into a question, as uncertaintly creeped into his voice. much like poe, he’d only heard of the jedi in legend. well. that wasn’t quite true, because poe _had_ known jedi in his time. he said noncommittally,

“i guess so. though he’s not really a jedi, is he? i mean, he’d declared himself a sith, right?”

fn shrugged again. “i suppose. but if he trained to be a jedi at first… maybe old habits are had to break.”

“maybe,” poe allowed. he could have pressed it. could have goaded fn into gossip about the masked emperor who claimed a bloodline connection to vader, but chose not to. he wasn’t sure if it would get fn in trouble, and in any case, if some imperial officer turned up on a resistance ship and started asking up and down about leia and the current ruling body at the republic… well. he was just here to get his ship repaired and play nice. he wasn’t a recon officer for a reason.

“thanks for dinner,” he said. “and for showing me round.”

fn graced him with another brilliant smile. “you’re welcome.”

when the door to his room slid shut, poe practically threw himself in bed. bb-8, who’d been resting at a charging station, not only fully repaired, but also polished to high gleam, rolled over to him and started beeping instantly about some asshole imperial droid he’d ran into during repairs. apparently it looked like an evil trash-can.

“yeah, there’s lots of it about,” poe said and closed his eyes.

fn had not been kidding when he said he was tasked with babysitting poe, but it was not wholly unpleasant. he was getting a tour of the facilities of the sith emperor’s flagship. from the large windows of the canteen, they had watched ren’s x-wing and the vessels of his knights roll out into jakku’s atmosphere for a day of exploring.

“he’s a great flier,” fn said. “one of the best pilots we’d have, if we were to go into battle. and he loves showing off.” he said that just as ren’s modified flier made a dangerously stupid maneouver that poe had genuinely only seen attempted in holoshows. must have been nice to rely on the force and nigh-immortality.

they went back to the hangar to check on his ship. the situation was not quite so dire, though according to one of the technicians, it would make more sense to just give poe an imperial ship, and have him tow his “piece of republic scrap” to base. while the comment was delivered without (much) malice, his pride demanded he stand up for his ship. the technician sighed and went back to work.

fn patted his shoulder sympathetically, and bb-8 brightly offered to electrocute the technician. poe appreciated them both. fn took him to one of the storm trooper training halls instead, so they could work some steam off. well, mostly poe, since like all other storm-troopers, fn’s conditioning gave him the zen self-possession of a thousand jedi masters. fn was doing target practice, while poe set about demolishing an imperial punching bag with vigor. he hadn’t really had a chance to stretch himself properly since shipping off, and when zorii had practically tried to kill him, that hadn’t really counted as exercise either.

he was just finding his rhythm of kicks and punches, and centering himself properly. he’d never received any kind of formal military training, until the resistance. he’d gotten in a fight in his first week, and general holdo had been the one to reprimand him. and then take him aside to properly kick his ass. she’d taught him how to fight not like a bar brawler, but like a soldier. poe was not a soldier. he wasn’t a fighter, even, when he could help it. he wanted to fly, that was it. he’d always only just wanted to fly. everything else that had fallen into place around him – well. he took every day in stride. he wondered sometimes, if that’s how others felt. if they too were just taking what life threw at them. he wondered if ren had always known what he wanted to be, who he wanted to be. if he’d trained under luke, and then snoke, and then palpatine, planning to betray them all for years, biding his time so he could build an empire, or if he’d merely drifted into a violence he could no longer escape.

“i wonder what we’ve done to you, to incur your aggression upon our property, commander dameron.”

the quiet cultured voice brings him sharply out of focus and into reality. hux is as put together as he’d been the previous night, leaning slightly on his cane, his mouth quirked in a small amused smile.

“i was just thinking,” poe says. he can’t help but stare at hux, looking for any sign that what had happened might have affected him, though it was stuid. hux hadn’t been particularly affected to begin with after the event itself.

“that’s always a dangerous pastime,” hux said, inclining his head.

“is that what your storm trooper programming says?” he’d meant it lightly, but it must not have come out that way, because hux bristles. his eyes fixate somewhere over poe’s shoulder, as he studiously avoids eye contact, where before he’d invited it.

“i did not seek you out,” he says, instead of responding. “i come here to use the facilities. but it’s just as well i ran into you. i do not think i adequately expressed my thanks last night.”

“well…” poe shifts awkwardly. “you don’t uh – i wish i could say anyone would have done the same, but i don’t think that’s quite right.”

he’s still trying to wrap his head around the idea that hux trains. he looks slight – slender and lean – though perhaps his uniform conceals some muscle. certainly, he must have some training, as poe had seen his elegant and graceful fighting style the previous night.

“are you sure you should be exerting yourself? you’re still on bedrest, i hear,” he adds, still avoiding hux’s gaze. he can’t help but feel as though he’d committed some gross faux pas from which there is no recovery, by bringing up the unspoken truth everyone knew about storm troopers, and the soldiers who served alongside them.

“perhaps i shouldn’t,” the general allows. “but truth be told, i fancied the walk. i usually come here to swim.”

“oh,” poe says. his mouth is very dry. he imagined the general in a pool of gleaming blue water. it’s in his head only for a moment, but now that he’s thought of it –

he really should get some, and soon. he’s still all fucked up about zorii, and projecting on anyone remotely attractive around him. which – well. yes. the general is attractive, in his own way. poe had always enjoyed a pale aristocrat.

“i don’t think i’m quite up to it, rather,” hux admits. “i thought i could do a few laps, but…”

“but-?”

“but then, who’d give you a tour of command deck? i haven’t been there in days, and you’re my perfect excuse to take a turn around, without breaking my bedrest order.”

“ah,” poe smiles conspiratively. “you’re not commandeering, you’re being hospitable.”

“precisely,” hux says with a smile of his own. “i’ll wait for you outside.”

even with the cane he has a long stride, and poe follows him as he talks about the finalizer. the original flagship for the empire, the supremacy, had been destroyed during ren’s coup.

“and good riddance,” hux says. “the supremacy was regal, but the finalizer is larger, more practical. there’s better facilities on here, though they’re not quite so lavish as the supremacy. ren doesn’t have a throne room here, for once.”

that startles a laugh out of poe. “what does he have then?”

“his quarters,” hux says. “an office. like the rest of us.

“oh.”

“his throne room is on exegol,” hux says quietly. there’s something in his voice, that poe can’t quite put his finger on.

poe doesn’t have to respond, as hux scans for access, and the sliding doors open, revealing the bustling command deck of the ship.

there’s no moment of silence, or a cessation of activity as hux walks in, but the atmosphere does change.

“general hux,” a handsome young man with the blueish-pale skin of someone who’s grown up his whole life shipside salutes stiffly.

“captain mitaka,” hux acknowledges. “i’ve been keeping track of your work during my recovery. well done.”

the captain positively melts at the praise. “t-thank you general. we’re all just doing our best.”

“mitaka?” poe interrupts. “didn’t i speak to you yesterday? you granted me passage on board. thank you. you may well have saved my life.”

the tips of mitaka’s ears turn red. “anyone decent should have done the same,” he defends.

“i think we both know that there are … individuals on this ship, who wouldn’t have, in your place,” hux says quietly. “and commander dameron is lucky you’re not one of them.”

“it’s what you would have done, general,” mitaka says confidently, “and that’s all i care about.”

poe isn’t sure if he imagines the way hux’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“at ease captain, continue with your duties. i’m just showing our guest around.”


	4. Chapter 4

hux has to retire to his rooms and prepare for a formal dinner ren is hosting for his generals. he likes to get his updates in a more casual setting, hux says, so they don’t feel like they’re being cross-examined. it eases the nerves for the younger ones, and makes the older ones feel all special and flattered.

“and you?” poe had asked.  
  
“i know ren,” hux had said simply.

it was precisely the kind of non-answer poe had come to expect from him when his questions became unwelcome, so he’d let it go. it was odd to think over two days, he’d already started to grow accustomed to the general’s manner of conversation. maybe leia ought to send him on less individual missions, he was growing desperate for human contact.

he was fairly sure he could make his way back to his quarters on his own. he quickly found he was wrong. the gleaming floors and spotless walls all meshed into one large perfectly labyrinthine construction, and the signs, few as they were, offered little direction. he knew he was going deeper into the ship, as the hallways grew emptier, and wider. if he’d taken bb-8 with him, he’d have gotten back to his rooms by now.

luck must have been on his side though, because at his next left turn, he caught sight of a smoking lounge. like the one he’d found hux in. from there, he’d be able to make his way to the canteen and grab dinner, and then someone would walk him to his room. thank you, force!

he walked with a spring in his step. the lounge was outfitted with black marbled tables, and heavy leather sofas, for the officers to sit and smoke at. large windows offered a beautiful view of the galaxy, nothing but the ink black of space and a million stars. they must sit here, and pat themselves on the back and feel powerful like they had in the days of the old empire. but there is no one in the lounge, except for a single dark figure, sitting in the windowsill, back to the door.

even better. poe can just _ask_ for directions.

“uh,” he says. “excuse me.”

the figure turns. and poe comes face to face with the masked face of emperor kylo ren. there’s no mistaking it, from the countless holos of the man. the thin red lines that hold the black metal together seem to burst forward, like lava. like he’s gleaming from the inside.

some say he’s been horrifically disfigured, and that’s why he refuses to show his face. others say it’s to follow in the same steps as vader.

“yes?” ren says, and his voice is a deep rumble from the very depths of his chest.

he shifts his stance, sliding off the windowsill with surprising grace for a man of his bulk and stature.

“uh,” poe says eloquently. “your um… imperial highness?”

he had no idea how he was meant to address royalty. it was simple with leia – she was his general. but ren had no military title. darth ren didn’t sound right either.

“that would be me,” ren acknowledges and sounds vaguely amused, rather than insulted, which poe counts as a win, because insulting the very sith emperor that the republic is currently in tenuous peace negotiations with would get him not simply demoted, but probably court-marshalled.

“commander poe dameron of the galactic resistence, and newly co-opted republic fleet,” ren muses. “what, i wonder, are you doing on my ship?”

“i got lost?” poe offers lamely, and then, “wait, you know my name?”

“as you, i suspect, know the name of many of my generals,” ren says. “information travels both ways in this galaxy.”

“oh,” poe says.

“yes. quite.”

“i was trying to get to the storm trooper canteen…” poe trails off uncertainly. ren seems strange and otherworldly, and yet horribly physical, present, and ordinary at once.

“ah, you’re quite a way off from there. though you still haven’t answered my question. i’m assuming there is a good reason you’re on board, though i have not been notified of any impending diplomatic meetings.”

“i sent out a distress signal. captain mitaka pulled me on board for repairs.”

“i see. i’ll make sure to commend his initiative. i’m glad we could be of assistance.”

“yes. thank you. it’s more than appreciated, really. your technicians fixed my droid too.”

“oh? in that case, you’re very welcome. i suppose i could provide further assistance, and direct you back to where you were headed?”

he lapses into an easy silence, waiting for poe to pick up where he trailed off and say something.

“yeah, i’d uh… i’d like that,” poe says. he has the distinct feeling ren is laughing at him.

“i’d be happy to do so. provided you don’t tell anyone about my hiding spot. this part of the ship is reserved for foreign dignitaries. we don’t have any on board, so i hide from responsibility here.”

what is it with poe getting dragged into everyone’s little insubordinations on board this ships? does he just have the aura of a rascal?

“i don’t think i could even if i wanted to, because i don’t think i know which part of the ship i’m even in.”

that prompts a laugh from ren, which comes filtered through the mask as a heavy exhale. another win for poe.

“if it’s dinner you’re after, why don’t you join me for dinner with my generals. it will give me an appropriate excuse to ignore them, when i get bored of their sycophancy.”

it’s phrased as a question, poe knows, but it’s not, not really. royalty never asks. this probably applies doubly to sith royalty.

“i’d be honored,” he says, and imagined leia’s face. if ever there was a time for the force to intervene, now would be it.

“excellent,” ren says, “walk with me.”

so poe does. ren’s stride is purposeful and long. his cape moves with him, and poe catches a glimpse of the hilt of his saber a few times. he’d seen the blurry shape of it in holos. he’d used a cracked crystal, and the saber was at risk of exploding at any moment, leia had explained.

“why would he do that?” poe had asked.

leia’s face had darkened. “to prove he’s strong enough to control it.”

from where poe’s looking now, ren seems plenty in control.

the dining room they enter is not opulent by the standard of the republic, but it certainly is by the asceticism he’d seen so far on the finalizer. he recognizes hux, and phasma, still in her uniform, though without her helmet. she has straw blonde hair, cropped boyishly short, and large blue eyes. she’s rather a pretty woman, which is probably why she keeps her face hidden – it can’t be easy to get taken seriously. the force knows how leia struggles with it still. mitaka is there as well, and a few other men.

behind the table, standing at parade rest, are the still-masked knights of ren. allegedly, the force sensitive prodigies he’d trained himself to be his protection detail, though poe isn’t sure to what extent it’s true. no one had a guess as to their identity.

ren had poe seated at his left, while one of the generals poe didn’t recognize – an older, sallow-faced man, took his right.

“commander dameron, allow me to introduce you to allegiant general pryde. he served under my grandfather, the late darth vader, and is bringing his expertise to high command now.”

poe gives pryde a thin smile, that’s more a baring of teeth. pryde was an unrepentant war criminal. everyone over thirty seated at the table was. no wonder leia didn’t trust the empire. his only consolation was that hux was seated right beside him. his cane was not there. poe wondered if he was feeling better, or if he simply did not want to be seen using it too often.

ren claps his head, and the doors open, protocol droids bringing in platters of food.

“will you not join us, emperor?” pryde asks.

“me and my knights ate planetside,” ren says easily. “desert street food is… a fascinating experiment.”

that elicits a few laughs. one of the knights shifts.

“it’s an experiment i’m hoping to bring to our worlds. where are we at with opening trade routes that don’t cost an arm and a leg to get through?”

“sir, is it wise to be discussing in front of – “ pryde begins, glancing at poe.

“in front of?” ren prompts. “a guest on this ship? that i have invited to this table, knowing exactly what will be discussed? do you question my judgment, allegiant general?”

beside poe hux has gone ramrod straight, his face drained of blood. he’s gripping his cutlery in shaking hands. around the table, no one else seems to react quite so strongly to the undercurrent of ren’s anger.

“of course not, emperor,” pryde backtracks.

“good,” says ren quietly. “because even if commander dameron were to transcribe this conversation word for word to the new republic senate, all they’d learn from it is that the poorest of our people are starving, same as theirs.”

pride’s jaw snaps shut. another general, a woman with a severe face, and dark hair pulled into a tight black braid raises her wine goblet, drains it, and starts discussing negotiations and upcoming meetings, unperturbed.

hux’s cutlery clatters as he lets go of it. he stares down at his plate, and does not touch his food. poe eats, because he’s hungry, and because it’s good. across the table, pryde is looking at them both with an unreadable expression.

true to his word, ren turns to poe, and asks him mindless questions about the republic, derailing conversation aptly, to help himself out of having to converse too much with his generals. it’s obvious to poe which of them he favors, and which ones are being kept for the sake of maintaining appearance. pryde may hold a high rank, but he doesn’t have ren’s ear. he’s much more interested in what hux and phasma have to say, and he obviously favors mitaka, and is grooming him for power.

poe knows this, only because he’s paying attention the way leia had taught him to, back when she’d thought he could be made into a recon operative. he remembers, because that’s what he’d been told too, so many times, by ben, as he struggled to process his mother’s lessons, and failed.

he remembers that final summer before they sent him away, and he never came back, when they’d waded knee deep into the streams by the organa home, and ben’s silences were longer, more drawn out. “they’re sending me away,” he’d said quietly, on the last day. “and i’m never coming back.”

he’s not sure why he’s thinking about it now. he’d always wondered, after. if ben was one of the padwans killed when luke’s jedi academy was destroyed, but leia had never said. it seemed inappropriate to ask. but she’d worn black for months, and han solo had simply disappeared, and that’s how poe had known that ben solo was gone.

when desert is served, hux finally picks his silverware up again.

“we’re very grateful to be able to have chocolate again,” ren says. “rationing took its toll. we’ve missed sweetness.”

he says it mildly, not in a particularly pointed way, but poe knows it’s bait. “look at what’s been done to us because of the republic,” ren is saying.

poe wants to argue. you chose isolation, he wants to say. starting an ugly debate is not the right idea though. he’s learned to temper himself, if only because … well. he can’t bear the thought of disappointing leia.


End file.
